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Saoirse’s heart had stopped when her slave had run into him that first day. She honestly wasn’t sure what he’d do, but just like the Rion she remembered, he still held that soft spot for the slave’s plight. She remembered the first time he’d stood up to Alec about the issue. Her older brother had laughed, asking Rion how they could run a country without labor. Rion had snapped back, saying a country who couldn’t run without them was pathetic. She’d barely prevented the two from having an all-out brawl.

Saoirse turned down another hall and waited for him to round the corner. If he noticed, which she was certain he had, Rion didn’t show it.

He hadn’t killed a single person, Fae or half-breed, and with her constantly trailing him, their warriors didn’t dare attack either. Much to her relief.

Rion trained every evening, pushing his body beyond its limits until he was covered in sweat and gasping for breath. No one dared enter the northern training rings, though he didn’t seem to mind the solitude.

He pushed open the glass door and entered the garden. Saoirse stood at the entrance, staring through the fogged panes into the warm room beyond. He sat on the same bench, in the same position, staring at absolutely nothing.

She looked at the small tree behind him and the pink flowers that never stopped blooming. Saoirse knew why he came to this tree. He’d planted it with their mother, and she’d used her magic to push it from seedling to juvenile in a matter of moments. Saoirse remembered Rion’s face that day, the young six-year-old awe as he tried to summon his own magic, his hand pointed toward a small plant until his face reddened with the strain.

Their mother had picked him up and twirled him through the air, tickling his sides to elicit the laughter she so loved to hear. “You’ll get your magic soon enough,” she’d say. “And you’ll be one of the most powerful Fae in history.” She hadn’t been lying about that part.

Her mother was a seer, but such a gift was so rare that no one understood exactly what it meant. Sometimes she’d see glimpses of the future in such detail it was overwhelming. Other times, she puzzled through a maze of shadows, the fragments haunting her waking dreams. Saoirse always wondered if her mother knew what Rion would become. Perhaps things would have been different if she were still with them.

Saoirse spent so long searching for her. So many years, decades, gathering information from every corner of Alastríona. Many loved their mother and the thought that someone might have stolen her away, possibly murdered her, angered even the Fae from Fiadh.

Saoirse opened the glass door and walked down the pebbled path. Rion didn’t look up as she sat directly across from him, closer than she’d been in a decade. She remembered all the times she’d tried to approach and all the times he’d turned away. Her heart cracked with each memory.

This was her little brother. The small boy she’d led from stall to stall at festivals. The boy who’d laughed endlessly and possessed such curiosity about the world around him. Someone she used to hold before a fire as they both cried for their mother’s absence. The defeated male on the bench before her wasn’t the monster she’d seen him grow into. He was that boy again. Mourning.

Could the rumors be true? She’d heard whispers from the warriors that’d returned. They spoke of legends, of a female from Móirín that The Demon guarded fiercely.

“Rion?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted. How long had it been since she’d spoken his name? He didn’t respond, but he didn’t stand to leave either.

Saoirse looked at the tree again. Rion resembled their mother so much it was painful. What words might their mother have spoken to console him?

“Do you remember coming here when we were children?” she started. “I do. I remember the delight on mother’s face when she planted that seed. I remember how often we came here to play, escaping winter’s chill on the coldest days of the year.” She caught herself smiling, but Rion didn’t move.

“Alec doesn’t come here much anymore. He never has time, really.” Her mind jumped to another memory. “What about the first time he put you on a horse? I think you were five and mother was furious. You’d likely have broken your arm if she hadn’t been there.”

Silence.

Saoirse leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “Rion?” He lifted his eyes this time and Saoirse’s heart clenched. Those eyes. Those impossibly sad eyes. He looked away again. “Talk to me.”

Rion’s jaw feathered. “What, exactly, do you want from me?” The first words she’d heard in such a long time.

“A conversation.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my brother.”

A momentary spike of anger. “I haven’t been your brother for a long time.”

She stood to reach for him, but Rion recoiled and shot to his feet, walking around the stone bench to put space between them. She couldn’t keep the pain from her face and could have sworn he flinched at the sight. Saoirse deserved the distance he kept.

“I’m The Demon, lest you forget.” His voice was low, a strained growl that didn’t quite feel like the aggression he intended. “You remember that teacher you loved so much? What was his name again? Caol? He trained you for twenty years. You trusted him like a father, and I ripped the skin from his body. Or how about the male you grew up with? He was like a brother to you, wasn’t he? I overheard your cries after I crushed him.” He shook his head, a grimaced smile covering his features as if he were trying to conjure that wicked smirk he gave to his enemies. “And what about the slaves you so love? How many of them have I murdered over the decades? You couldn’t have forgotten about them.”

“Don’t lie about the slaves. I know better.” Rion’s jaw clenched. “You make everyone see the worst in you. Why is that?”

“It’s all they’ve ever seen, so why not?”

“Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?” Rion didn’t respond. Saoirse remembered those deaths in vivid detail, but they were only one side to the story. He didn’t mention how her teacher had put four holes through Rion’s abdomen, nor did he talk about her friend’s assassination attempt. And the slaves. She’d caught him smuggling them from the palace, running them to Móirín’s boarder in the dead of night only to take the blame for their disappearance without complaint. “Talk to me.”

He let out a long sigh. “I started the war.” Everyone knew that.

“Tell me about the female,” she tried again.